derstand why
the General walked abruptly out of the church when the first notes of
a ballad, which he used to hear with a rapture of delight in a
gilt-paneled boudoir, began to vibrate along the aisles of the church in
the sea.

The General walked away down the steep street which led to the port, and
only stopped when he could not hear the deep notes of the organ. Unable
to think of anything but the love which broke out in volcanic eruption,
filling his heart with fire, he only knew that the _Te Deum_ was over
when the Spanish congregation came pouring out of the church. Feeling
that his behaviour and attitude might seem ridiculous, he went back to
head the procession, telling the alcalde and the governor that, feeling
suddenly faint, he had gone out into the air. Casting about for a plea
for prolonging his stay, it at once occurred to him to make the most of
this excuse, framed on the spur of the moment. He declined, on a plea of
increasing indisposition, to preside at the banquet given by the town
to the French officers, betook himself to his bed, and sent a message to
the Major-General, to the effect that temporary illness obliged him
to leave the Colonel in command of the troops for the time being.
This commonplace but very plausible stratagem relieved him of all
responsibility for the time necessary to carry out his plans. The
General, nothing if not "catholic and monarchical," took occasion to
inform himself of the hours of the services, and manifested the greatest
zeal for the performance of his religious duties, piety which caused no
remark in Spain.

The very next day, while the division was marching out of the town, the
General went to the convent to be present at vespers. He found an empty
church. The townsfolk, devout though they were, had all gone down to the
quay to watch the embarkation of the troops. He felt glad to be the only
man there. He tramped noisily up the nave, clanking his spurs till the
vaulted roof rang with the sound; he coughed, he talked aloud to himself
to let the nuns know, and more particularly to let the organist know
that if the troops were gone, one Frenchman was left behind. Was this
singular warning heard and understood? He thought so. It seemed to him
that in the _Magnificat_ the organ made response which was borne to him
on the vibrating air. The nun's spirit found wings in music and fled
towards him, throbbing with the rhythmical pulse of the sounds. Then, in
all its might, th